Archive for January, 2015

Following starts the prologue of a novel I initially wrote for my grandchildren. Turns out, it’s more suitable for late teens and young adults than pre-teens and early teens. If you decide to let your 10 year old read this, read the chapter yourself first. Some of the descriptions are a bit graphic, I guess, although I think they’re only describing the story and are not gratuitous in my mind, certainly not like Hunger Games, or the Twilight Saga. Although the book is complete, I’m in the middle of a re-write so I hope this will motivate me to spend more time, ah, re-writing.

By way of introduction, Dragon stories continue their appeal to boys, (and girls–yes, there is some romance in this story) in spite of a seemingly saturated market. The Dragons of the Cliffs are different, special and possess some powers other dragons in other stories don’t have. I surmised that if vampires in the Twilight Saga can drink animal blood and tolerate light, my dragons have no limits. So, I hope you enjoy this first weekly installment. And, yes, it does have a Christian theme.

Dragons of the Cliffs: Anden’s Challenge

Prologue

Stygian Darkich called for the retreat when Thursagon’s sword severed his Dragon’s head. The Dragons and riders blinked from the Cliffs of Norse to the GoldenMire outside the Master’s cave, their wounded fighters and Dragonless riders two on a neck. Stygian jumped from the Dragon whose rider saved him when he fell. This was a bad loss. Seven Dragons and riders gone and he, their leader, led them to—to defeat. A gash in his left shoulder throbbed. The left arm hung at his side, immobile. No matter. Fix it later. He had to inspire them, motivate them. From the front of the group, he pulled up and flexed. “They defeated us this time, but we regroup, we train, we will prevail!” He shot his right fist into the air.

A weak cheer landed on his ears. Curses sounded from the back. A murmur rolled through the group.

“We will defeat them, I say!” Quiet. No cheer?

Then a voice from the back. “How do you know? You told us we could not lose this time.”

Anger filled his chest and rose to his face. “Silence!” He’d find out who said that. He started toward the voice when the ground moved left, then up. The ground? Quakes and rolls followed. Up—he left his feet; down—face in the dirt. A gust of wind hit him from the Dragons who hovered above him to escape the convulsing ground. The quaking stopped.

Stygian rose to his feet and opened his mouth to speak when a voice came from the mouth of Master’s cave across the piles of gold, precious stones and coins.

A stooped old man walked across the treasure and shuffled his way. “You need not, ah, chastise,” he wheezed, inhaled, “the rider who spoke those words, Stygian.” The old man inhaled, coughed, exhaled. “He, ah, voices.” Deep breath. “The concern of us all. How will you win when you allowed victory to escape your grasp?”

Anger ignited in Stygian again and exploded out his mouth. “Leave me, old man, lest I send you to the den of Lucifer!”

“For you see.” A deeper tone this time, louder and stronger burst from the visitor. What was happening?

“I happen to be.”

He, he was bigger. His arms and legs—bulged with muscles. He, what was he?

“Familiar.”

The man-beast grew and the wrinkles of age left him. His face turned a reddish black and the white hair disappeared. His size—he became massive. Stygian tried to swallow and couldn’t. The monster’s head tipped back, his mouth opened, his arms came out from his sides and a deep, dark laugh echoed from his throat. The man-creature smiled, took two steps and stood in front of Stygian.

“With the den. It’s my home.”

Stygian shook, staggered and thought his heart would beat out of his chest. His master, the Wyvern of Lucifer himself, stood before him. The yellow fangs and the grin penetrated his eyes, his head, his heart. He grabbed his chest. His heart stopped? No, it was going again. A pain filled his brain like a hot poker rammed through his skull. He fell to his face on the ground prostrate. “My master. What is your bidding?” The words left his mouth involuntarily.

“You’ve disappointed me once too often, young leader.”

The ground shook, then shook again. Stygian turned his head. A colossal black Dragon emerged from the cave, twice the size of any Dragon of the GoldenMire.

“Meet BlackHeart, my new Dragon.” A laugh filled his ears. A hand with strength previously unknown to Stygian circled his neck. Pain! Snap! No feeling below his neck. With a jerk, he traveled through the air, bumped and slid under BlackHeart. The talons surrounded his head. All went black.

Following is a tongue-in-cheek story of, well, you’ll see if you read it. It’s not exactly a Christian story and has in it dishonesty, theft, lying and mention of some bodily fluids. I thought it was a fun story to write, however, so I hope you get a smile.

The Sweet By and By

A drop of grease fell from Bill’s chin on to the paper plate. “Who’s the deceased again?”

“Who cares?” Naomi nudged him in the side. “Is there another wing in that bucket?”

He tipped the bucket and checked. “Yeah, but it’s not extra crispy.”

Her eyes perused the Fellowship Hall at Bethany Baptist Church. “See two tables over?” She gestured with her head. “They can’t be eating much. They all have gray hair and lousy teeth. Go switch buckets with them.”

A woman wearing three large diamond rings frowned and spoke. “It’s so greasy. I wish they served gluten-free, organic salads.”

That’s a first world problem if ever I heard of one.

“Well, here’s a bucket if anyone is interested, and hey, I’ll check about that salad, folks.” With that he put his nearly empty bucket on the table, took their mostly full bucket, walked to the kitchen, turned around and went back to his table. “Here it is. We’re back in the chicken. Extra crispy, too.”

“Have you seen the desserts?” She pointed to a man carrying a bowl of vanilla ice cream drenched in homemade hot fudge sauce.

“Ice cream? Hot fudge? We better get some before it’s gone.”

Two minutes later, they sat back at their table with ice cream and hot fudge spilling over the sides of their bowls.

He savored each bite. “Anybody ask you how you knew the deceased?”

“One woman asked.”

“What’d you tell her?”

She sniggered. “The usual. I teared up, sobbed and said I missed him so much. Then I hugged her and whispered, ‘And the sex—to die for.’ My nose ran on her shoulder. When I pulled back, I snuffled, coughed up a ball of…well, you know, and held it in my mouth while I searched for a wastebasket.”

He hooted. “You’re kidding me! Did it work?”

“Like a charm. After I spit, I said, ‘Whew! I thought I’d have to eat that one.’ The poor soul turned ashen white, put her hand to her mouth, coughed and ran to the women’s rest room.” Naomi took another bite of ice cream. “She didn’t make it though. I went in later and almost slipped on the, um, stomach contents.” She glanced at the front food table. “They just put out some cookies. Anyone ask you?”

“Just a minute.” He rose from his chair, walked to the front and came back with a plate full of cookies. “Yeah, a couple guys did.” He stuffed half a cookie in his mouth. “I told them I met him at a bowling tournament in Oklahoma City.”

“A bowling tournament?” She took a cookie from the pile and nibbled at it. “In Oklahoma City?” She smirked.

“Yeah, then I said, ‘He so loved bowling. Bowling and beer.’ I hesitated and said, ‘And meeting guys, of course, but you knew that.’ Then I pulled out my cell phone, glanced at it, said, ‘Excuse me,’ and made a hasty retreat.”

“Ha. Did you see how they reacted?”

One dropped his plate and the other’s said, “Bowling? Beer? Guys?”

She grinned and leaned in. “They’ll be thinking about that for a while.”

He looked up. Chicken, chips, cookies and brownies graced the food table. “I’d love to take that food home.”

Her eyebrows pinched together. “There’s got to be a way.”

He glanced over. “You ever tried a diversion?”

“No, but I’m game.”

“Okay, I’ll fake a fall along the tables farthest from front door. You take your—” He looked down. “Is that a purse?” A red bag as big as a small suitcase sat beside her.

“Hey, it’s a purse.”

“Anyway, you sweep the food table and stroll out the front door. Get the car and have it running by the south exit. I’ll be out a couple minutes later and we’re off.”

He stood and glanced around the Fellowship Hall. A low din of conversation sounded from the 100 or more guests. “Wish me luck.” He walked to the side of the room away from the front door. She ambled to the front table gripping her red portmanteau. They locked eyes and she nodded.

With a loud “Whoooaaaa!” he slipped, kicked a folding chair forward so it crashed against the concrete wall, spun in the air and hit the floor on his hands. He rolled and moaned with gusto, “My back! My back!” Three men dashed to his side.

“Help me, oh, ow, help me!” He heard someone call 911. He rolled back and forth and increased his moans to screams. “Help me up, please.” They lifted him and held him up.

He stood hunched over, then shook off their hands. “Let go of me. This place is dangerous. My back, oh, my back.” He hobbled toward the south exit with one hand on his back, turned and pointed his finger. “You’ll hear from my attorney about this!” He pushed open the south door, let it close and slid into the passenger’s seat. The car sped away.

The red bag sat between them filled with cookies, brownies, chips and bucket of extra-crispy. “Spectacular work. Anyone notice?”

“How could they with your screams?” She laughed, and adjusted her rear view mirror. “No one following. I’ll drop you off at your place.”

She stopped in front of a white one and one half story house and turned off the car.

She turned toward him, the warmth in her voice palpable. “I have to tell you, Bill, that’s the best first date I’ve ever had. It’s so wonderful to have a friend who shares the same love.”

He smiled and touched her hand. “I feel the same way, Naomi. Next week?”

She beamed. “Sure. I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I’ll check the obits, and we can take my car.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for a wonderful evening.”